


Into Marvelous Light II (Raising Grant Ward)

by skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda



Series: Into Marvelous Light [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda/pseuds/skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Before you ask, yes. There will be a part 3 of Into Marvelous Light. Stay tuned, my friends, and as always, thanks for all of your comments & support. (:</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Raising Grant Ward

Grant Ward had lived at the S.H.I.E.L.D. hub for three months now, and Coulson couldn’t say it had been going well, exactly.

The boy was in therapy, and while the therapist was one of the best they had, that was decidedly _not_ going well.

School wasn’t going much better.

They had enrolled him at a private academy that was relatively close to the Hub, and many children of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents attended, and while he adjusted well to the classes and even his classmates, he seemed to find himself in trouble with his teachers more often than Coulson could count.

It was usually small problems, minor insubordination or a veiled insult, but the teachers—often former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents themselves, despite the fact that this school was not S.H.I.E.L.D.-run—were stricter than normal.

But perhaps most worrisome of all was that Grant wasn’t making any friends.

Not a single one.

It wasn’t that the other children _didn’t_ like him or excluded him deliberately; it was just that he didn’t seem to care about making friends. At fourteen, he was in the oldest class at the middle school, so there was no one older to pick on him, but he just didn’t talk to the other children.

When Coulson asked him about it, he just shrugged and said he didn’t need friends.

Grant rarely mentioned his younger siblings—Dana and Chelle—but Coulson often wondered how much that had to do with it.

They had been his only friends, the only people he had cared about, for most of his young life, and to see them murdered so brutally before his eyes…

And there was the rest of it, too, the darker side.

At the age of thirteen, Grant Ward had killed the man who had killed his younger siblings. That man had happened to be his own father.

John Garrett had found him after that, and Coulson still didn’t know the full extent of what he had done to the boy in the year he had spent living like a feral animal in the woods.

In fact, with all that had happened, it was surprising that Grant Ward had any ability to care left in him; a miracle how deeply he obviously cared for each person living in the Hub quarters with him.

All things considered, Coulson decided to let time heal—it was the only thing that could, he discovered, and perhaps there were always going to be wounds that didn’t heal.

He had seen that truth with Steve, who had been woken only two years before. It may have been seventy years for the rest of the world, but for Steve, it was still only two years since he had lost his best friend, Bucky, and despite Steve’s quiet resilience, Coulson knew there had been little healing.

Perhaps it was why Grant connected so well with Steve—in fact, he was Steve’s shadow whenever he was home, and no matter how tired Steve was or how difficult the op had been, he always found time to spend with the boy.

So Coulson didn’t worry too much.

That is, until Grant got into his first fistfight at school.

Coulson got the call when he was in a meeting with some agents over their next op. He handed over the briefing to the lead agent, one of their lead doctors and scientists, Lily Simmons, and left the room to take the call.

He was at the school in fifteen minutes, and the principal greeted him coolly in the front office. “Agent Coulson,” he nodded coldly, and Coulson recognized him as a former active reconnaissance agent, Hadrian Taksony, a man Coulson had worked with before the agent’s retirement. “I understand you’re Grant Ward’s guardian?”

Coulson nodded, assenting. “What happened?”

“I don’t know where this kid learned to fight, but he took down three high school seniors during lunch today,” Taksony said. “Those three—Burke, Wallace, and Adrian—all insist that he started it.”

“What does Grant say?”

“Nothing,” Taksony said disapprovingly. “And silence reeks of guilt, Coulson”—

“Or it means he was protecting someone,” Coulson said sharply. “And for this kid, Taksony, silence means a lot more than guilt, so cut him a break.”

“We have a strict policy against fighting here,” Taksony responded, his eyes narrowing.

“I understand that,” Coulson retorted. “And I have a strict policy against punishing a kid before I understand what happened, so you’ll excuse me if I want to hear his side of the story first.”

“I’ve tried that already.”

“I haven’t.”

Taksony frowned, and Coulson could see it was all the man could do to keep from rudely rolling his eyes. “He’s in here,” he said finally, jerking his head towards another room in the office.

Grant was sitting just inside on a bench in front of the assistant principal’s desk, and he stood quickly when Coulson entered. He wouldn’t meet Coulson’s eyes.

“Am I suspended?” he asked the floor.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened first,” Coulson suggested before Taksony could answer. “Then we’ll talk about what we do from there.”

“I got into a fight,” Grant said, his voice hard. “Didn’t you hear?”

“He broke Burke’s throwing arm,” Taksony interjected. “Burke’s our best quarterback.”

Grant smirked. “Not anymore he isn’t.”

“Grant,” Coulson said sharply, and Grant closed his mouth into a hard line.

“He broke Wallace’s nose, too, and gave him a black eye,” Taksony continued. “Wallace is the student president, and he has to give an address to the school board tonight. And Adrian, our team’s best linebacker, has three broken ribs. Coulson, I don’t know what _other side_ you’re expecting to hear. The kid obviously isn’t sorry.”

“No,” Grant said curtly. “I’m not.”

Coulson surveyed him for a long moment, considering Taksony’s words and Grant’s apparent carelessness. Taksony may view it as an utter lack of concern for what he had done, but Coulson had been fooled by Grant’s careless for the six weeks when the kid had lived with them and still been under Garrett’s thumb. “Tell me what happened,” Coulson said firmly. “From the beginning. How did the fight start?”

“He already told you,” Grant replied sharply, obviously irritated. “I picked a fight, and I won it.”

“Why?”

“Why did I win?” Grant smirked. “Because I’ve been training with Natasha Romanov.”

“Which you won’t be anymore if you use those skills to beat up your classmates,” Coulson told him, and the boy’s arrogant expression faltered slightly. “But that wasn’t my question. Why did you pick the fight?”

Grant looked away just briefly, out the open door towards the nurse’s office across the hallway, and Coulson’s sharp eyes followed his glance.

In the nurse’s office were two children, a boy and a girl who both looked to about ten or eleven, who were far too young to be in a middle school/high school. The boy was sporting a massive black eye, and the girl was sitting beside him, her arm linked through his, chattering brightly in an obvious attempt to distract him from his injury.

Grant looked away, still silent, and Coulson stood, waiting.

“That’s all,” Grant said finally. “I was angry. I wanted to let off some steam. That was all it was.”

Coulson sighed, and Taksony folded his arms.

“I told you, Coulson,” he said coldly before turning to Grant. “We have a three strike policy, and you just had your first strike, young man. Our policy is a three day suspension, so you can collect your books and assignments now before you go. You’ll be allowed back to school on Monday. But I have to warn you, a second offense will result in a two week suspension, and any further offense will result in immediate expulsion. Am I clear?”

“Crystal clear,” Grant said cheerfully. “Can we go now?” he asked Coulson, who looked at him in disappointment.

“Yea,” Coulson said quietly, his eyes not leaving Grant, who wouldn’t return his gaze. “Let’s go.”

They didn’t say much on the drive home.

“I still want to know the whole story.”

“I told you.”

Coulson shook his head. “You don’t start fights just for the hell of it,” he said. “I may not know much, Grant, but I do know that.”

Grant scuffed his feet on the floor of the transport vehicle Coulson had taken. “Maybe I do,” he said roughly. “I’m not a good person. I don’t know why you still think that.”

“Because I can see it, Grant,” Coulson said sharply. “I see the good in you, and it amazes me, because after everything that’s happened to you, you can take in stray dogs and teach soldiers and spies and gods how to be kind. So you may not see it, Grant, but I do, and I’m not giving up on that goodness.”

Grant bit his lip.

“I’m not giving up on you,” Coulson said firmly. “And that’s why we’re going to talk about the kind of privileges you forfeit when you start fights.”

“Are you saying I’m _grounded_?” Grant scoffed.

“I’m saying no sparring lessons with Natasha for the duration of your suspension,” Coulson said. “And we’ll have a talk on Monday about the future of those sparring lessons and fighting. If you were defending yourself, Grant, I have no problem with fighting back, or if you’re defending someone else. Sometimes you have to fight back, even when you don’t want to. But fighting just for the fight, Grant? That’s not okay.”

Grant scuffed his foot harder, nearly kicking the dashboard. “Fine,” he said, and then added in a small voice, “Are you going to tell the others?”

“You don’t want me to?”

“No.”

He nodded. “That’s fine. Steve will want to know why you’re not in school, though.”

“He’ll be mad if he finds out.”

“No,” Coulson said with certainty. “Steve’s not like that.”

When they arrived home, however, a surprise was waiting for them.

Steve, who had arrived home from an op in Brazil that morning, was waiting in the common room with a woman—Coulson recognized the woman he had left in charge of the op that morning, Lily Simmons—and the two children Coulson had seen in the nurse’s office this morning.

Steve and Lily both stood to greet them, but the two children ran forward to meet Grant, and Coulson looked at him quickly.

“I heard about what happened at school today,” Steve said, and Grant’s face fell. “This is Dr. Lily Simmons, and she wanted to talk to you, Coulson. She has some… perspective to add.”

“Sorry about the intrusion, Agent Coulson,” the doctor said crisply, her accent—Welsh, Coulson guessed—heavy in her words. “This is my daughter, Jemma, and her friend Leo. They’re both eleven, but they have been taking advanced science courses in the high school, and today at lunch, Leo was being picked on by three of the high school seniors. For his Scottish accent, I think”—

“And because they were insecure,” Jemma interrupted, her accent pronouncedly different than her mother’s, and Coulson guessed that she had lived in London for most of her life. She was at Grant’s side, her tiny hand tilting his chin so she could look at the faint bruise on his face. “Fitz and I are much smarter than them, and it made them feel bad about themselves. Especially Burke. He’s a”—

“Jemma,” her mother reproved, but Grant grinned just slightly.

“I don’t believe Grant had ever met the children before today, but he’s been looking out for them,” Lily finished. “And today he stepped in when the boys provoked Leo here. They have been making comments about my daughter,” her eyes flamed suddenly. “And Fitz stood up for her. Obviously, he was outmatched, but apparently your boy wasn’t. Three eighteen year olds, and they only left him with one bruise.” She looked at Grant in admiration, but he looked away, down at little Leo Fitz, who had stopped to pet Buddy.

Lily stepped forward, holding out her hand. “Thank you, Grant,” she said crisply. “And Agent Coulson, I wanted to make sure you knew. Leo and Jemma didn’t have the chance to tell the principal their story until after Grant had already been suspended, so we wanted to make sure we made it back here in time.”

Coulson nodded, his throat clenching with emotion, and he turned to look at Grant, quiet pride shining in his face. He placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder, and the boy leaned into his arm just slightly. “Thank you, Lily,” he said. “And thank you, Grant.”

The boy looked up at him searchingly. “I didn’t want to tell,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t want to make it harder for Jemma and Fitz. The ass holes at school make it hard enough.”

“Not anymore they won’t,” Fitz said, grinning up at Grant in admiration. “You’re the strongest person in the world,” he said dramatically, holding Buddy in his arms. The dog squirmed and whined, and Grant took him, grinning down at the younger boy.

“No one’s going to mess with us anymore, right, Jemma?”

She nodded, smiling brightly. “Mum, can we stay here today? Grant is home and we can just stay and play so we don’t have to go home”—

Lily shook her head slightly, but Grant looked at Coulson and then at Steve, eyes pleading.

“That would be wonderful,” Coulson said. “I have to finish briefing the op, but Steve will be here, and I’ll be back in a few. Jemma and Leo can stay with Grant until you and I are finished for the day, Lily.”

Grant led the two younger ones into the game room adjoining, and Buddy followed at their heels, tail wagging.

Lily took her leave, but Coulson lingered a moment to speak to Steve.

“Our boy never stops surprising me,” he said, and Steve smiled.

“If he decides to join S.H.I.E.L.D., we’d be lucky to have him,” Steve responded, and Coulson nodded.

“Whatever he decides,” he added. “Wherever he goes, whatever profession he chooses, he will be a good man. He _is_ a good man. And that matters even more.”


	2. Friends

From that day on, Grant officially had two friends, and Coulson was grateful that despite all of their differences, age and otherwise, he had the two kids.

Jemma and Fitz seemed to end up in the Hub quarters at least a few times a week, and Grant always lit up when he saw them, so Coulson encouraged it.

Thor and Jane both took a liking to them, and some days when Grant wasn’t around, Thor ended up in the kitchen with Fitz teaching him how to make Asgardian snacks and telling him about the different species of monkeys on Asgard, while Jane and Jemma curled up on the couch together and debated over various scientific principles which, of course, went far over Coulson’s head.

Natasha liked them too—mostly, Coulson guessed, because of how happy they made Grant—but she wasn’t allowed to bring them up to her rooftop retreat after a disastrous attempt at a sparring lesson, in which Fitz, who had been trying to display his ability to hit a kick-shield, had kicked Grant in the face and broken his nose, and Simmons, who took her turn while Grant left for the med wing, accidentally broke Fitz’s arm.

In the three weeks since the fateful fistfight, Grant was already doing better in school—especially in science—and Coulson thought, foolishly, that life might calm down a little for both of them.

Natasha, who had arrived home from an op with a cut on her face and a bloodied lip, had just entered the common room and was eating leftover pizza with Grant.

Coulson entered just as Natasha brought up the fight.

“So I didn’t know about the injuries,” she said, and there was the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.

“Burke and Wallace and Adrian?” Grant asked.

“I mean, I knew you had kicked some ass and had nothing but a single bruise to show for it,” she said, admiration in her tone.

“How many did you fight?” Grant asked, gesturing to the small cut and bruise on her face.

“Oh, half a dozen? Maybe? That was the size of the security team, at least,” she said. “There were another four as I was leaving, and there was this one who looked like a fucking mountain troll. But you didn’t just kick their asses, did you? You sent a message.”

Grant looked up at her quizzically. “A message?”

“You were intentional,” she said. “You made them look bad, targeted what they view as their only strength—football for two of them, public speaking for the other one. Why?”

Grant looked at Coulson, who waited expectantly, and then looked away.

“Go away, Phil,” Natasha said. “I want to know the answer, and he’s not going to say it while you stand here and act like a grown-up.”

“I was pissed,” Grant said, his toe scuffing the ground. “That was all. I fought them because I wanted to protect FitzSimmons, but their injuries… I did that just because I was pissed.” He looked up at Coulson, his eyes dark. “Is it bad that I’m not sorry?”

“That you’re not sorry for being angry?” Coulson asked thoughtfully. “I’m not sorry you were angry. _I’m_ angry that anyone treated FitzSimmons like that,” he said, finding himself using the nickname Grant had given the two children. “But sometime let’s have a talk about that fight. About what was okay and what wasn’t. Okay?”

Grant nodded, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Phil, when I was his age”—

“You were in the fucking Red Room,” Clint interjected, sauntering into the common room, his bow slung over his shoulder. “Did you _really_ just try a “when-I-was-his-age,” Tasha? Because I don’t think any of us want our boy to live through what you did.”

Grant grinned at Clint’s “our boy,” and Tony chose that moment to chime in.

“And did you really just come in from an op through the fucking roof again?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “Why can’t you join us like a normal person?”

“Asks the man who just flew in through the window in a ridiculous metal suit,” Clint grinned, and then turned to Grant. “How was school?” he asked. “Did you do the project for— _godfuckingdamnit Natasha, who did that to your face_?”

She rolled her eyes, and Grant smirked at Coulson.

“It was just an op,” she said impatiently. “Part of the job description, if you hadn’t figured that out yet. I’m fine.”

“Who did it?” Clint repeated, shaking his bow menacingly.

“Last time he got this overprotective he caused a lot of damage,” Stark interjected. “When was it, Natasha?”

“When we heard Grant was in med because of that son-of-a-bitch,” Natasha said. “Clint threw someone out of a window and blew up a boat so we could get home quicker.”

Grant grinned. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Long story,” Clint said quickly. “I wasn’t being overprotective, Nat, I was just”—

“Yea you were,” she said dismissively. “Grant, FitzSimmons are here.”

The two children entered, Fitz still sporting his cast, and Buddy raced towards the door, tail high and wagging.

Fitz went straight to Grant as he always did, Simmons pausing to pet Buddy.

“Hey, Grant,” he said, looking up at Grant with the hero-worship he always wore plastered across his face when he was with the older boy. He might be surrounded by super-soldiers and spies and alien gods, but for Fitz, his hero would always be the skinny fourteen year old boy who had rescued him from the school bullies.

“Did you finish your science?” Jemma asked in a motherly tone, and Grant smiled that little half-smile he had just for the two of them.

“Yea,” he said. “I’m not sure I understood the physics stuff, though.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Jemma said, shaking her head at Fitz, who sighed importantly.

“We’ll work with you,” Fitz said reassuringly, and Coulson could see that Grant was trying to suppress a laugh.

The three children disappeared into the other room, and Coulson and the rest dispersed.

He didn’t see them again until dinner time, but they came in through the front door to the quarters.

“Where were you?” Coulson asked curiously.

“Um,” Jemma said, her entire face turning red. “We were downstairs talking to my mum, weren’t we, Fitz?” she said, her tone exaggeratedly bright. “Not doing much. At all. We were only in approved areas of the building, weren’t we, Grant?”

Grant had already slipped past Coulson, and he gave a noncommittal “uh-uh” in response.

Steve entered a few minutes later. “Grant,” he called, his arms crossed. “Jemma. Leo. I just came from the science and research wing.”

“Oh,” Jemma said.

“We can explain,” Fitz said.

“No we can’t,” Grant said.

“Apparently someone just saw three children in one of the research labs,” Steve said sternly, but he couldn’t help the laughter hiding in his eyes. “And they caused quite a bit of damage. Care to explain?”

Coulson, Clint, Nat, and Tony turned as one, waiting, and Jane and Thor paused what they were doing to listen.

The three stared at each other.

“Um,” Grant said. “They were trying to explain my physics homework to me. It was my idea.”

“Actually,” Jemma corrected. “It was Fitz’s idea, and it wasn’t really about homework. We just got bored and Fitz wanted to test an idea he and I talked about earlier, and Grant never says no to Fitz.”

“And, um,” Fitz added. “I accidentally caused a small explosion.”

“And then it singed his eyebrows off,” Jemma added. “So we were looking at some of the test tubes on a rack because we thought we could find something that would help with hair growth, and I accidentally dropped some kind of acid on the table and it burned a hole through someone’s laptop.”

“And then we ran,” Grant finished.

Clint and Natasha were shaking with laughter, and Tony patted them both on the back. “Come to Stark labs sometime,” he said. “All of you.”

“Oh good god,” Natasha choked out through her laughter. “Do you want them to blow up Stark Tower?”

“I do,” Clint said, slapping his leg. “I want to see them blow up Stark tower. How did you cause the explosion, Fitz?”

Steve and Coulson looked at each other. How had they ended up as the only adults in the building? 


	3. Family

Lily grounded Jemma for a week over the incident, but Fitz—who was the son of a single mother who didn’t have the time to worry about grounding him—ended up at the Hub nearly every day, even when Jemma was grounded.

Coulson and Steve had both lectured Grant about the explosion, and he had gone downstairs with the other two to apologize and help clean up, so they didn’t have the heart to do anything else. (This was, of course, made more difficult because Natasha couldn’t stop laughing, and when Hill found out she actually had to leave the room).

Fitz, who was still recovering from the broken wrist, came home from school with Grant every day that week.

“Jemma’s mom won’t even let her out of the house,” Fitz complained. “She’s so damn strict”—

“Fitz!” Grant sounded shocked when he swore, despite the fact that he lived with Natasha and Clint, the two most obnoxiously profane individuals Coulson had ever met.

“What?” Fitz asked, but he was blushing. “You swear sometimes.”

“You’re only eleven, Fitz,” Grant said firmly. “Has Natasha been a bad influence?” His eyes sparkled mischievously, and Natasha, who was sprawled across the couch, her head on Clint’s lap, opened her eyes.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said quickly, smacking Clint when he snorted with disbelief. “What did Grant blame me for?”

“Fitz said a bad word,” Grant grinned down at the younger boy.

“What kind of bad word?” Natasha asked curiously, and Fitz blushed when she addressed him.

“Damn,” Fitz whispered, and Coulson knew that with that kind of attention, he would never be saying the word in front of them again (which, he reasoned, had probably been Ward’s intention all along).

“That’s a bad word?” Natasha looked up at Clint, her eyebrows raised, and he smirked slightly. “I don’t remember knowing that it was a bad word.”

Clint bent over and whispered something in her ear, grinning wickedly, and she smacked his arm again before whispering back, something that made his grin widen even more.

“Was your mom mad when she found out about the… uh, explosion we caused?” Grant changed the subject before Fitz could innocently ask what Natasha and Clint were talking about (which Grant and Coulson had both assumed was dirtier than anything Fitz needed to hear).

Fitz’s face fell slightly. “She was mad,” he said. “But she didn’t say much. Just asked if we had to pay for any damage.”

“Did you tell her we helped clean up?”

“No,” Fitz said. “I just told her we didn’t have to pay anything. That’s all she really cared about,” he said, looking away, his small voice trying to sound tough. “The money. At least since d—her husband left.”

Grant’s face softened, and he whistled for Buddy. When the dog came, he lifted it and handed it to Fitz wordlessly.

Coulson had noticed when Fitz had first started hanging out with Grant that he never called his father “dad;” just “her husband” or by his first name.

“How come you never talk about your family, Ward?” Fitz asked innocently, scratching between Buddy’s ears.

Grant’s face dropped suddenly, and it was as if a mask slid down over his face.

“This is my family,” he said briefly.

Fitz surveyed him sympathetically, and Coulson exchanged a glance with Clint, whose eyes were dark with worry.

“Did your dad leave, too?” Fitz asked softly, and Grant sucked in his breath sharply.

“No,” he said, and his eyes were dark and wild suddenly. “He didn’t leave.”

“Fitz!” Thor bellowed from the kitchen doorway, interrupting just in time. “Young son of Midgard, I require your assistance.”

Fitz set Buddy down and followed Thor into the kitchen, with a last sympathetic glance at Grant.

Grant’s face was blank and hard, but his eyes shone with all of the confined rage and grief and desperation that months of living with a new family had not driven out.

He turned on his heel and left, his head high, and Natasha sprang to her feet, following him wordlessly.

Clint followed, leaving Coulson standing alone in the common room next to Buddy, who whined and nudged at Coulson’s knee.

Coulson bent down to pet the dog, staring after Grant and the two spies thoughtfully. “What can we do, Buddy?” he asked sadly, and the dog wagged its tail at him. “How do we save our boy?”


	4. A Good Man

Ward shoved past the board over the hole in the roof and climbed through, welcoming the slap of cold November wind against his face.

Barton and Romanov climbed through behind him, and he stood facing out over the compound, ignoring them.

They didn’t speak, and he was grateful.

Natasha joined him at the edge of the roof, the wind catching her red hair and tousling it.

Clint took a place on Ward’s other side.

“Did you have a family?” Ward asked suddenly, not sure which of them he was asking.

“Mine sold me when I was six,” Natasha said briefly. “They thought it was just for sex. It was to the Red Room.”

Clint was silent, and Ward turned to him.

“Mine was like yours,” Clint said finally. “I had a sister. Caty. She died when I was seven.”

“Parents?”

“Did this,” Clint answered shortly, pulling aside his shirt color to reveal a deep scar from the side of his neck to his left shoulder. “I left.”

“Coulson didn’t tell us everything, you know,” Natasha said. “What happened?”

“The monster killed Dana and Chelle,” Ward said harshly, refusing to say the word _father_. “Two gunshots. He should have killed Maynard instead. And me.”

Clint’s face twisted with emotion, but Natasha just stared at him, her dark eyes fierce with understanding.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I killed him,” Ward said coldly. “I took his gun and I put two bullet holes in his head and I’m not sorry. Not even a little bit.”

Neither of the spies flinched at his words, and Natasha stepped closer to him.

“Good,” she said. “Don’t ever ask for pardon for that.”

“People shouldn’t be that easy to kill,” Ward said quietly. “And you—you can’t undo it.”

“No,” Clint said. “But you can learn to move past it.”

“I didn’t do it to protect myself,” Ward said harshly, his words tumbling over themselves before he thought better of it. “I didn’t care if I lived or not. And it wasn’t about protecting Dana and Chelle because I was too late for that. I just… I just wanted revenge.”

There was no absolution in their eyes, but no blame, either.

“I don’t deserve to live here,” Ward voiced his fear finally, hating the tremor in his voice. “Coulson and Jane and Steve and Thor and Darcy are all so good and they don’t—they look at me and I don’t think they understand that I _killed_ somebody.”

Clint shook his head sadly. “You said you don’t regret what you did,” he said quietly. “But I hear guilt every time you speak.”

“And we understand it,” Natasha added. “But you don’t understand, Grant. So do they. Coulson and Steve are the best among us, and they know what it’s like to make hard calls. They know what it’s like to kill people. Steve fought in a _fucking_ war, for god’s sake, and Coulson… Coulson is S.H.I.E.L.D., and I’ve seen him make the hard decision. I’ve seen him kill, Grant.”

“But not like me,” Grant said. “Not like us. Coulson is so _good_. He wouldn’t kill for revenge, but he thinks we’re the same and that someday I’ll be okay and grow up to be a good man but I’m scared because every goddamn time I look in the mirror I know there isn’t anything good left inside me.”

“When I was sixteen years old, I shot my father twice,” a voice interrupted them, and Ward whirled around to find Coulson standing behind him, his face impassive. “He had beaten my mother to death, and I wanted revenge, Grant. I didn’t think there was anything good left inside me, either.”

Ward stared at the man as if he had never seen him before. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That isn’t true. That couldn’t be true.”

“It’s all true,” Coulson said firmly. “You can read my file if you want. My defining moment was the day my father died, Grant.”

“No,” Ward repeated.

“But that’s not where the story ends, Grant,” Coulson continued, and beside Ward, Natasha and Clint waited breathlessly. “A man named Nick Fury found me. Told me that I was more than that, that I was made for something bigger than myself and my rage. And he taught me how to be better than my past, better than my anger, better than my worst days. He told me I had a choice, Grant.”

“I’m not a good man,” Ward shook his head, but it was himself he was fighting, and he wanted to believe it, wanted to hear Coulson’s truth and not his father’s and not Garrett’s. Wanted so badly.

“It’s what you choose to do now that decides that,” Coulson said softly, his words barely heard above the roar of the November wind. “That’s what makes a good man, Grant. And I know you can be a good man. You have it in you, Grant, and I can see it.”

Ward rubbed his hand over his face, trying to hide the tears that had gathered there.

Natasha’s hand snaked out and pulled him towards her into quick one-armed hug, and Coulson nodded to him, his eyes fierce with emotion.

Clint reached for the kick shields and began setting up their space for sparring, and Coulson turned to go.

“Stay,” Ward said impulsively, stepping towards this man who had brought hope into the middle of all of Ward’s darkness. “Stay and spar with us?”

Coulson hesitated, and then nodded, smiling slightly.

Clint and Nat partnered up, and Coulson held the kick shields for Ward while he practiced some of the kicks Natasha taught him.

They practiced for a long time—at least an hour slipped by—and Ward found that, once again, he had underestimated Coulson, because the man, though no longer technically a field agent, knew more about hand-to-hand than Ward would have ever guessed. He was a better teacher than Natasha, too, and under his teaching Ward perfected a roundhouse kick that Natasha watched proudly.

Ward loved every minute of it—the sharpness of the wind and the warmth of the blood that pumped in his veins as the stress and anger and memories ran out of his body and were caught away in the wind.

They practiced sparring until he was spent; until his legs almost folded beneath him from exhaustion and his arms felt loose and heavy from spent adrenaline. It was a welcome weariness he felt, and the weight of his tired body felt good and solid, as if an entirely different weight had been lifted from his shoulders that night.

When they rejoined the others inside, Thor and Fitz were still in the kitchen. Ward pushed open the door. Thor was balancing two trays in his hand and Fitz was seated on the counter, holding a large mixing bowl in his hands and absentmindedly kicking his short legs from his perch. Fitz dipped a finger into the bowl—which turned out to have cookie dough—and then offered the bowl to Ward.

“We made cookies,” Fitz announced brightly. “Do you want some, Ward?”

Ward helped carry the finished cookies out into the common room, and when he opened the door he was met with a small body hurtling straight into his arms.

It was Jemma, her face flushed with excitement, and she nearly knocked him over. The cook tray went flying (Natasha caught the tray, Clint grabbed most of the cookies), and Jemma wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I’ve been un-grounded,” she said excitedly, and then she turned to Fitz, giving him a more careful hug because of his healing wrist.

“Do you think we could go back to the lab?” Fitz asked. “You know, to apologize together. And I just wanted to use the scales in the back just once, because I had this theory”—

“No,” Grant and Jemma spoke at the same moment, and Grant burst out laughing.

_And as the warm light of Grant’s new home enveloped them, Coulson realized he had the answer to his question._

_This is how we save our boy. One step, one friend, one moment at a time._

_This is how we bring our boy home._

_And this is how he becomes a good man._


	5. First Impressions

Ward had seen a lot of change over the past two months, but the day that changed everything was surprisingly ordinary.

And it became a day he would remember for the rest of his life.

It was November 9th, 7 am.

Ward was shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders, preparing to face the cold Monday morning, and Darcy stumbled past him, carrying Thor’s giant mug which was, of course, brimming with black coffee.

“I still can’t believe you drink your coffee completely black,” Ward wrinkled his nose, and Darcy threw him a dirty look.

“Don’t diss the coffee,” she said blearily, and Ward grinned mischievously at Coulson, who asked, “Is that Thor’s mug again?”

Darcy nodded, and then tipped the mug up, gulping down her coffee.

“Stop staring at me,” she said irritably, and Grant laughed out loud, ducking out of the door before she could find something to throw at them.

When they reached Lola—the vehicle they took any time Coulson drove him to school, no matter how cold the day might be—Coulson turned to him as if just remembering something. “Oh, I forgot to mention, but you know the construction they were doing on the east wing of your school? It was finished this weekend, and the younger classes will be in that wing of the building. I got the e-mail last night,” Coulson said, and Ward nodded carelessly. “That means the middle school classes will all be in the high school now. And there’s a group of new kids—from the orphanage that opened up at the edge of the city last week—that are starting today. Just so you know.”

Ward nodded carelessly, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up. “Okay,” he said. “I don’t think it’ll affect me, but thanks.”

It shouldn’t have.

He told himself it didn’t.

But the kids he saw, the orphanage kids… he may have never met any of them before, but he could have picked them out of a crowd a mile away. He recognized the look in their eyes, wary and angry and just a little bit scared. He saw that same look in the mirror every day.

Three of the new kids were in his first block math class, and the teacher—a wrinkled old lady who squinted over her glasses at the students and still called Ward “Graham” after two months—did her best to make them comfortable.

“What did you say your names were, dear?” she asked the two boys who entered first, staring intently at the space between their heads.

“I’m Oliver,” one of the boys said curtly. “This is Fagan.”

A few of Ward’s classmates snickered, but Ward looked at the kid sympathetically.

And then he saw her.

The third new orphan in his class.

She was skinny and dark-haired and still in the knobby-knee stage, and now her dark eyes were menacing and her fists were clenched. She glared ferociously at the boys who had laughed, and Ward saw her place a small, gentle hand on Fagan’s arm.

The boy shrugged it off, but the girl didn’t seem to pay attention.

“And you, dearie?” the teacher peered over Oliver’s head and looked down at her.

“This is Mary Sue,” Oliver said, but the girl’s dark eyes flamed again and she elbowed him aside.

“My name is Skye,” she said stubbornly, but the teacher was already turning away to write her name down.

Oliver turned to her, whispering harshly in her ear. “You can’t just pick your name,” he said. “Just deal with the one they gave you.”

Skye—Ward was already calling her that in his mind—folded her arms.

“Excuse me,” she said loudly, and the teacher turned back to face her. “My name is Skye.”

“That’s lovely, dear,” the teacher smiled, clearly not hearing a word Skye had said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The class snickered again, and Skye’s fists clenched.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” the teacher smiled, and Skye sighed in frustration and followed the boys to the empty desks at the back of the room.

Ward watched them go.

_Oliver._

_Oldest child, probably. Had a little brother or sister. They’re gone now, though. You can see it in the way he walks, the way his shoulders stoop. Do I walk like that?_

_Fagan._

_Only child. Parents didn’t want him—no dad, mom left. She was drunk, probably, but she smoked too. There are burns on his forearm—cigarette-butt burns._

_And Skye?_

_He didn’t know what to make of Skye._

He didn’t see her again until lunch. As usual, he grabbed his tray and headed to the table he always shared with Fitz and Jemma. It was in the center of the cafeteria—the day after the fight, Ward had gotten to the cafeteria first and set his tray down on the table usually claimed by the senior boys, and Burke, Wallace, and Adrian took one look at him and chose a different table for the seniors.

So now Ward and FitzSimmons sat here at the biggest table in the center of the cafeteria, conspicuously alone. He liked it better this way—no one would touch him now, no one would enter the bubble he had created for himself—but he still had FitzSimmons and their laughter and innocent chatter, and he was content.

Today, however, an angry orphan with messy dark hair and eyes that flashed dangerously broke that bubble.

Skye dropped her tray with a resounding thump next to Jemma and across from Ward, and stood, slightly hesitant. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

Jemma smiled brightly and scooted her tray over, and Fitz bounced a little in excitement, nodding.

Ward said nothing.

“You’re the one in my math class,” Skye observed, sliding into the seat opposite him. “With that crazy woman who can’t hear.”

“Yes,” Ward assented. “You’re new.”

“Yup,” she said. “I’m always new. We’re from St. Agnes, so we kind of get shipped around a lot. I doubt we’ll be staying long.”

“Mary Sue!” someone called, and Ward looked up to see a group of boys invading the circle most kept around Ward’s table.

Among the boys was Burke, the one who had hurt Jemma and Fitz (he still had a cast on the arm Ward had broken).

“Mary Sue,” Burke called, and the girl stiffened. “What are you doing over here with them?” He leered down at Ward and FitzSimmons, but since the fight, he hadn’t dared to do anything else.

“My name is Skye,” she said sharply. “Don’t call me Mary Sue.”

At her tone, Burke straightened angrily. “The boys tell me your name is Mary Sue, and I don’t like your tone, kid. You may be little, but we don’t have a place for little shits who talk back.”

“Then I don’t need a place here,” Skye said, sticking her chin out stubbornly.

He looked taken aback, and Ward grinned as the older boy faltered in the middle of his group of friends.

Unexpectedly—almost desperately, Ward thought, as if Burke was trying to cling to his failing control over the situation—Burke reached out and grabbed Skye’s shoulder. “Oliver says you’re a pretty one,” he said, an ugly leer spreading across his face. “But Fagan says you’re too feisty.”

Ward jumped to his feet, but Skye had already grabbed his fingers and twisted them back. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled, and Ward saw a darkness in her face that he understood. “No one touches me unless I let them.”

“Chill, kid,” Burke tried to draw his hand back, but she just twisted his fingers farther back.

“Do you know how much force it takes to break fingers?” she asked, a cold smile spreading across her face. “About as much as it takes to break a carrot. So don’t. Fucking. Touch me.”

Burke grabbed for her hair, and Ward sent his tray flying into the older boy’s face.

_Two steps. Fist to nose. Foot to shin. Crack. Snap._

Burke was on the ground, moaning, and Fitz and Simmons were on their feet, concern and fear plastered across their faces.

“Did you break his fingers, too?” Ward asked the girl, and she nodded.

“He won’t be playing football anymore this year,” she said. “Even if he didn’t have that cast on. Did you do that?”

He nodded.

Burke’s friends had backed off, and Simmons was bending over the older boy, mumbling about certain types of fractures and clearly trying to help him.

Teachers converged around them then, and Ward knew without asking that he would be the one blamed for this. Taksony arrived behind the army of teachers, and he was irate.

“My office, Ward. That’s strike two.”

Fitz and Simmons stared at him, their mouths hanging open. Perhaps in their fright the first time, they hadn’t really understood the extent of the brutality of Ward’s fight. Perhaps he had scared them off this time.

He walked the long way through the cafeteria, his head held high, looking neither left or right.

The cafeteria was dead silent, and he could feel all eyes on him, but he didn’t break step.

Taksony reached the office at his heels. “Dr. Simmons talked me out of suspending you last time, but this, Ward? This has gone too far. I consider this your second strike, kid.”

“Excuse me,” a small voice said, and Ward turned to see Skye, all sharp angles and dark eyes, standing behind them. She had followed them—god, she was quieter than Natasha—and now she stood staring fearlessly up at Taksony, her arms folded.

“Who are you?” Taksony barked.

“I’m Skye,” she said. “I’m new. So is Ward, though, isn’t he? But you don’t notice us unless we mess up.”

Taksony stared at her incredulously. “What are you doing in my office? Sarah, get her out of here,” he said, turning to the secretary, who jumped to her feet.

“You never asked who started the fight,” she said. “I started recording on my phone when those boys came over to our table, and I have all the footage. I also have the footage of you ordering Ward to the office without asking a single question.” She tapped something on her sweatshirt zipper. “I have a camera right here, sir, because I’ve learned that people don’t believe an orphan unless she has evidence.”

Ward stared at her, open mouthed, and Taksony turned a deep shade of purple.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, and she grinned.

“I recorded that too,” she said brightly, her tone hard and unrelenting. “It uploads automatically as I record, and unless you decide to stop being an ass hole, I’m going to make it a _public_ stream.”

Taksony opened his mouth and shut it, aghast at her nerve.

Ward wanted to give her a round of applause.

“Shut the camera off and we can have this conversation,” Taksony said finally. “That is _not_ school appropriate, young lady, and we will be talking to the St. Agnes director about this.”

“As if I give a fuck.”

She reached up to the small camera attached to her zipper, however, still smiling coldly.

“I’m calling the director,” he said, and then jabbed a finger in Ward’s direction. “And I’m calling Coulson. You’re not off the hook, kid.”

He exited the main office into his own, and his secretary followed at his heels, leaving Ward staring down at the girl.

“You didn’t really film all of that, did you?” he asked incredulously. “That was amazing.”

“Nope,” she said. “I don’t have a hidden camera. How dumb would that be?”

“You’re good,” he said.

She smiled, and it lit up her face, smoothing away the raw angles and erasing the anger in her eyes. “Thanks,” she said. “So were you.”

“It’s Skye, right?”

Her smile widened. “Yea.” Her eyes sobered suddenly, and she reached out a hand towards his face, tracing an old scar. “You’re not from St. Agnes, but you’re alone, too, aren’t you?”

“Not anymore,” he said quietly, flinching under her soft touch.

“But you were alone before, weren’t you?” she asked persistently. “For a long time?”

“Yea.”

The hand that touched his scars was gentle.

“I figured,” she said.


	6. Compassion

Coulson came to get Ward, and listened in silence as Taksony ranted about school policies and setting examples and completely inappropriate conduct.

Ward sat silently, too, Skye at his side. The chair was too high—or her legs were too short—so she kicked her legs carelessly, staring insolently at Taksony.

A nun from the orphanage arrived, disapproval written across her face in hard, clear letters, and for the first time, Skye looked uncertain.

“From what all parties have told me, the girl broke Burke’s fingers, and the boy broke his other wrist and possibly his shin,” Taksony said. “That is unacceptable. Both will be receiving a three day suspension, since Ward’s first strike was, at least _slightly_ a gray area. Have I made myself clear?”

“Unmistakably,” Coulson said coldly, and Ward couldn’t look at him.

The nun led Skye out first, her fingers digging into the girl’s shoulder, and Ward wanted to run after her, wanted to say she could come and stay with them and everything would be alright. It was stupid, he knew, so stupid—but for a wild moment he thought that if only he could bring her back to his new home, maybe he could make her laugh until he erased all of the sadness in those savage brown eyes.

But he didn’t say anything at all, didn’t move until Coulson placed a hand on his shoulder.

They walked out to the car in silence, and Ward climbed into the passenger side, trying to shrug off the heaviness that hung between them.

“Grant,” Coulson looked across at him, and Ward still couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “Grant, is all of that true? About Burke’s injuries?”

“Yes.”

“You broke his arm last time?”

“Yes.”

“And he was still wearing a cast this time?”

Ward flinched. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time—in fact, he hadn’t really thought at all; just reacted to the anger that had flooded him when Burke had grabbed Skye. “Yea,” he said. “He was still in a cast.”

“And you broke his wrist and his shin,” Coulson said, and Ward nodded, his shoulders hunched. “Why?”

“I didn’t think,” Ward could barely hear his own words. “He grabbed Skye and I just… reacted.”

Coulson sighed heavily. “Look,” he said finally. “I understand that Burke is a bully, and that you want to protect the girl, just like you wanted to protect Fitz and Simmons. But there were other options today—there were _so_ many other options—and even if you had run out of those options, you had no need to be as brutal as you were.”

Ward clenched his fists, trying to block out the disappointment he heard in Coulson’s voice. “I wanted to make sure he didn’t touch Skye again,” he said, and it wasn’t an excuse—there was no excuse—but it was a reason, and he wanted Coulson to understand.

“I know,” Coulson said softly. “But you could’ve called a teacher—there were plenty around—or you could’ve just pushed him away from her, Grant, because I know you’re more than capable of that. He would have backed down, especially with his arm still in that sling. And if he had tried to fight, I know you’re also capable of stopping him without breaking bones.”

Ward scuffed his toe against the floor of the car. “I know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I was angry, and I knew there were other things I could do, I just did what was… easiest.”

“Compassion is usually the harder choice,” Coulson said quietly. “And I’m glad that you have compassion for people like Skye, but it takes even more guts to have compassion on your enemies.”

Ward swallowed hard. “I don’t think I ever knew what compassion was,” he said. “Not until recently, at least.”

Coulson’s look was laced with sadness. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you did.”

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, and Ward stared at his hands until they pulled inside the compound.

“Who’s home today?” Ward asked finally.

“Almost everyone,” Coulson replied briefly. “Nat won’t be back until late, but everyone else is here.”

Ward wanted to get out of the car and run rather than face all of them.

“Grant,” Coulson called, and Ward realized he was still sitting inside the parked card.

He followed Coulson inside, and Steve, Thor and Jane looked up from the couch, where Jane was curled up beside Thor watching television, and Steve was reading the newspaper. The three greeted him brightly, and Ward acknowledged with the tiniest of nods.

Coulson tipped his head towards the game room to the left of the common room, and Ward hunched his shoulders again, as if somehow making himself smaller would be enough to make everything disappear. “Let’s talk,” Coulson said quietly, and Ward followed him into the adjoining room.

Coulson seated himself on one couch, and Ward took his place on another opposite him, staring at his hands.

“Grant, we all make choices,” Coulson began slowly. “I believe you’re capable of making the right ones, and I think you had choices today. And I think you had better options than the choice you made.”

Ward flinched, but didn’t respond.

It was the first time Coulson had really been upset with his actions—the last fight didn’t count, as Fitz and Jemma and Dr. Simmons had saved his ass by explaining it had been done in self-defense—and Ward didn’t want to admit to himself just how terrified he was.

“You’re good at hand-to-hand, Grant,” Coulson said. “I’d say you might even be better than Natasha was at that age. And that can be a gift, if you use it the right way. But using it to break that kid’s wrist and shin? That wasn’t the right way to use what you’ve learned. I want you to know how to defend yourself, and I want you to know how to defend others. But I also want you to know how to make the compassionate choice, Grant.”

Ward nodded, looking up at him briefly.

“Which is why there won’t be any more sparring lessons with Natasha and Clint until I’m sure you understand compassion,” Coulson finished firmly. “And until you practice it, even with people you consider your enemies.”

Ward knew the disappointment must show on his face, but he didn’t respond.

Coulson sighed wearily, and stood, exhaustion wrinkling his forehead. “That’s all,” he said quietly, and Ward stood, too.

“Skye,” Ward said suddenly. “Is she going to be okay?”

Coulson’s expression softened. “She’ll be fine,” he said. “St. Agnes may not be the greatest place to grow up, but it’s run by decent people.”

Ward nodded. “Can I still see Jemma and Fitz?”

Coulson tilted his head in confusion. “Of course you can,” he said. “Why on earth wouldn’t you?”

Ward looked down. “I think I scared them today.”

“They haven’t seen what you’ve seen, Grant,” Coulson said, pulling the door open. “But they care about you… and they’re here now, actually.”

Ward followed him out into the main room, and found the two children standing hesitantly near the doorway. When they saw him, they surrounded him, Simmons wrapping her arms around his waist.

“We were so worried about you!” Jemma stood back and crossed her arms. “Are you hurt?”

“Are you in trouble?” Fitz asked, eyeing Coulson suspiciously.

“Is it okay that we’re here?”

“Are _you_ okay?”

“When are you going back to school? Is that ass”—

Grant held up his hand to stop them. They were babbling over each other as always, and he grinned just slightly. “I’m okay,” he said. “Are you guys okay?”

“Oh, we’re fine,” Jemma said quickly, and then looked at Fitz. “Well… Fitz’s mum was made at him today.”

Ward looked at Fitz, who bit his lip and looked away.

“Where’s Buddy?” Fitz asked, not acknowledging Jemma’s words.

Ward noticed he was a little paler than normal.

“She works for Burke’s dad, and she said… well, she doesn’t want there to be any more fights with Burke,” Jemma said.

Ward nodded, and then looked across the room towards Coulson, who was talking to Steve. “There won’t be any more fights if I can help it,” he said quietly, and then he nudged Fitz with his elbow. “Okay?”

Fitz nodded, but his face was still pale and pinched.

“How about we make cookies again?” Ward asked. “Chocolate chip. Thor can help us.”

Fitz grinned, reaching down to pet Buddy, who had entered the room, tail wagging.

Thor and Darcy joined them in the kitchen to cook, while Simmons curled up on the couch next to Jane and talked about science. Coulson and Steve joined them in the kitchen, laughing as Buddy tried to jump up onto the kitchen counter (“I swear it’s not me who taught him that.” “We know, Grant. It was Clint.”), and slowly, Ward began to relax.

Dr. Simmons came to get Jemma later that night, and took Fitz with her too. Ward wandered towards his bedroom, yawning, searching the room for Buddy. The dog usually joined him, curling up on the foot of Ward’s bed, but right now he was nowhere to be found.

“G’night,” Darcy called, heading towards the kitchen with her laptop. She was a night owl, and he knew she would be up for at least another four or five hours. “Oh, and Grant?” she called over her shoulder. “You are heading to your room, right?”

“Yea,” he said, adding curiously, “Why?”

“Good,” she said, not offering any further explanation.

When he reached his room and pushed open the door, he paused in shock. He had found Buddy, but that wasn’t all.

The dark-haired girl he had fought for today—Skye—was curled up at the foot of his bed next to Buddy, her fingers curled into the dog’s fur, fast asleep.


	7. Technicalities

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Ward asked Skye, and she jerked awake, sitting up abruptly. Her hair was a knotted mess, and her dark eyes shone with a wild light.

She stared at him angrily. “You scared me.”

He squinted at her in disbelief. “ _You_ scared _me_. You’re in my goddamn room. What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Oh,” she said. “Um. I didn’t want to be at the orphanage tonight.”

“You ran away?” he asked incredulously. “You’re in trouble already, and so am I, so I would appreciate if you didn’t get me in anymore.”

“Well, technically it’s not running away unless you get caught,” she said, unconcerned. She sat up all the way, staring at him across Buddy, her hands still wound in his fur. The dog slept on, oblivious to both of them. “And I’ve never gotten caught before.”

“Before? Do you do this a lot?” he demanded, exhaustion and annoyance causing him to raise his voice further. “Why did you come here?”

Skye yawned. “I wanted to see you,” she said, as if it should have been obvious. “I had three nuns yell at me all night, and then I was moved to the basement room alone, so I was bored…and lonely…and I decided to come here.”

“How?” Ward asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did you know where this _was_? How did you get here? How did you get _in_? This compound is secure.”

She rolled her eyes. “Everyone at school knows somebody who works here, so it wasn’t that hard to figure out how close it was. I just checked satellite footage and found the most likely location. And then I hitchhiked.”

“You checked _satellite footage_? Where the hell did you get your hands on that?”

“Shhh keep your voice down,” she admonished him. “Someone could hear us. And satellite footage isn’t that hard to get if you know where to look. I just know where to look.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re a hacker?”

“Yup,” she said proudly.

“You’re, like, twelve.”

“Thirteen,” Skye corrected him carelessly. “And your compound isn’t that secure. I disengaged your outer security systems from my phone and then I… uh… climbed.”

“You _what_?”

She stared at him as if he were slow. “I. Climbed.”

“We’re on the third floor,” Ward said, staring at her as if she were crazy. “That’s pretty fucking dangerous.”

“You swear a lot for a kid,” she observed unconcernedly. “Are you always this pissed?”

“I don’t know, are you always this much trouble?”

She grinned. “Yup.”

“How did you get through the window?” he asked. “It’s November. None of the windows are open.”

“Your friend Darcy let me in,” Skye said brightly. “She saw me out there and opened the window. I told her I was your friend, and she looked at me and said”—Skye broke off, giggling into her hand. “She said she understood why you fought those morons.”

Ward turned a bright shade of red. “Darcy,” he growled. “She’s an idiot.”

“I’m telling her you said that,” Skye said mischievously.

“Don’t!” Ward said quickly, and Skye sat cross-legged, grinning up at him.

“So what are we going to do?” she asked. “I think we should have some fun. Maybe we could go up to the roof. I saw the opening in the hallway. Do people actually go up there?”

“No,” he said shortly. “And that’s really why you’re here? To ‘have fun?’ We’re both going to be in so much trouble.”

Her face sobered. “I guess… I guess that’s really why I’m here,” she said in a small voice, looking down at the bed. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

He softened. “It wasn’t the first time I messed up Burke,” he said. “That was my fault, not yours.”

“You could have let me handle it, of course,” she added, but he saw gratitude in her eyes. “I did break his fingers, after all. I can fight my own battles.”

“I know,” he said honestly. “But I was tired of Burke acting like he owns everyone around him. He acted the same way with Jemma, and when Fitz tried to stand up for her, he and some others threatened both of them.”

“That’s why you broke his arm?”

Ward nodded.

“This time you were just pissed, though,” she added, and when he looked away, she asked, “The man who came to get you? Was he really pissed at you?”

Ward shook his head, and then looked at her sharply. “You said ‘the man.’ How did you know he wasn’t my dad?”

She looked at him for a long moment before she answered. “Because you’re nobody’s kid. And when you know what that’s like, you can spot it from a mile away.”

“Yea,” Ward said. “I knew which of you were from St. Agnes the second you walked in. So what’s your story?”

“I was dropped off outside of St. Agnes when I was a baby,” Skye said, stroking Buddy’s head absentmindedly. “Been there on and off ever since. I was put into a few foster homes, but I guess I was never… I was never…”

Her voice trailed off, and when Ward looked at her, he was surprised to find that this fierce dark-haired warrior-child had tears in her eyes. He climbed onto the bed, sat down beside her at the end of it, and reached for her hand before he could think better of it.

She closed her hand around his, holding tight to him. “I’m never sure,” she said shakily. “I’m never sure if I’m really visible at all until someone takes my hand. And every time someone lets go, I think I might disappear.”

Ward looked at her for an impossibly long moment, and when he looked down at their hands, he wondered briefly how it was possible for so much to change in a single day. “Well,” he said finally. “Then I won’t let go.”


	8. Days Off

It was nearly midnight when Skye finally snuck out the window at the end of the long hall and began her descent. Ward stared after her, his mind turning over and over with everything that had just happened.

They had talked for two solid hours, and she had had to continue shush him because he would start laughing too hard at something she said.

“I like her,” a voice behind him startled him, and Ward jumped out of his skin.

When he turned, Darcy was standing there, grinning mischievously.

“So,” she said. “She’s smart. Like, Jane-Foster-smart. And she’s as gutsy as Natasha. Let’s keep her.”

Ward grinned.

“I tried to climb down from a third story window once,” Darcy said, staring off into space as if she were remembering. “But… I was a little drunk at the time. And I was dressed up as a duck—don’t ask—and I ended up in the ER with a concussion. There’s a video of it somewhere. YouTube maybe,” she finished unconcernedly, and Ward snickered.

“You’re up late.”

Ward turned to find Steve coming down the hallway towards them, and he turned away slightly, not wanting to face him. He supposed Coulson had told Steve about the fight, and he didn’t feel like facing the man’s disappointment.

“I don’t have to go anywhere tomorrow,” Ward said, staring out the window. “I got suspended today.”

“You don’t have to go to _school_ tomorrow,” Steve corrected, un-phased by Ward’s announcement. “I think Coulson has other plans for you.”

“Shit,” Ward said, and Darcy blinked and then looked at Steve.

“I don’t know why you all look at me like that when someone swears,” Steve said to her, grinning wryly as he joined them at the window. “I was in the army, and until I met Natasha, I didn’t think anyone swore like soldiers do. You never met Bucky, but”—

He broke off suddenly, and Ward looked up at him. Steve stared out the window absently, and Ward thought he recognized the look in the man’s face as one he had felt in his own.

“Was Bucky your brother?”

“Basically,” Steve said. “He was my best friend. We grew up together. I lost him.”

“I’m sorry,” Ward said quietly.

Steve didn’t respond, but placed a hand on Ward’s shoulder absentmindedly.

Darcy looked at them, her expression oddly sad. “You look so old,” she said bluntly, and Steve laughed at her frankness.

“I’m almost 95,” he said. “So I guess I should expect that.”

“No,” she said. “I was talking about Grant, but you too. You’re all so young and you look so old.”

She turned on her heel and walked away abruptly, and Ward thought he saw sudden tears shining in her eyes. He looked up at Steve, and then ran after Darcy.

“Darc,” he called. “Wait up.”

She paused, and impulsively he wrapped his arms around her briefly. She reciprocated the hug, her lighthearted smile returning as if nothing had happened. “You should go to bed,” she said. “I really need to work on some stuff for Jane, and I think you’re going to have to be up early. Walking Dead marathon tomorrow night?”

“Of course,” Grant grinned, stepping back.

“She’s right.” Steve had followed him down the hall. “Get some sleep, Grant. It’s almost midnight.”

Grant nodded. “Are you gonna be home this weekend?”

“I have the whole weekend off, and Nat and Clint are off, too, once Nat gets home. Bruce is coming to visit, and they wanted to be there for that,” Steve explained. “Have you met Bruce yet?”

Ward shook his head.

“He spends most of his time at his clinic in Calcutta, of course,” Steve said. “He’s a brilliant scientist, and S.H.I.E.L.D. has been trying to recruit him for years, but he’s committed to the people he works with in India.”

Ward looked at Steve thoughtfully. “He’s the freaking _Hulk_ ,” he said thoughtlessly, and Steve frowned slightly. “I mean, I just sort of thought he was pissed all the time. I didn’t know he ran a clinic.”

“Bruce is much more than what his gamma experiments made of him,” Steve said firmly. “He learned to control his anger. I don’t know a better man than Bruce. He reminds me a lot of Coulson. And a lot of you, too.”

Ward looked up at him, and Steve jerked his head towards Ward’s bedroom.

“Come on,” he said. “Get to bed. You have a big day tomorrow.”

Ward said goodnight, and he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He hadn’t really expected much to happen the following day, despite Steve’s words, but he found the man hadn’t been exaggerating. Coulson woke him at six, almost an hour before he usually got up for school.

Ward groaned and pulled the covers up higher, but Coulson shook his shoulder persistently. “Wake up, Grant. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

Ward stumbled blearily out of bed into the shower, and when he emerged into the common room fifteen minutes later, Thor and Jane were both at the breakfast table. Jane was in a bathrobe, her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, and Thor was in a tank top and sweatpants. Thor was seated on the couch, and Jane was curled up against him. They both smiled cheerfully at him as he entered.

“Where’s Coulson?” Ward asked sleepily, yawning widely.

“He went downstairs already,” Jane answered. “He wanted us to tell you to grab some breakfast and then meet him downstairs near the entrance to the east wing.”

Ward ate quickly, and headed down to join Coulson. He found the man in the middle of a group of level three agents, his forehead crinkled in worry. “And you have no leads on where the breach originated?” he asked.

“It was virtually undetectable,” one of the level three agents answered. “We wouldn’t even have found it if they hadn’t left one the gate open at the north entrance to the compound. Whoever it was disabled the security system from an untraceable mobile unit, and then turned the security back on when they left.”

Ward thought of Skye, and hid his grin.

“Are you saying that someone hacked our security system from a _phone_?” Coulson asked incredulously. He turned to the only level six agent in the group. “I want you to find out who did it. And then I want them recruited to a S.H.I.E.L.D. team, because they’re pretty damn good.” He dismissed the agents and then turned to Ward.

“So why did I have to get up so early?” Ward asked irritably, and Coulson smiled slightly.

“I was supposed to have today off,” Coulson said. “They just called me down here to brief me about a security breach that took place last night.”

Ward kept his face straight, feigning surprise. “How did it happen?”

“We don’t know yet,” Coulson said. “But we’ll find out.”

No, Ward was pretty sure they wouldn’t find out unless Skye wanted them to, but he didn’t say anything to Coulson. “Do you know what they wanted?”

“We’re still investigating,” Coulson said. “But you and I are going into town today.”

“What?” Ward squinted up at him in confusion. “Why?”

“You have the next few days off,” Coulson said as if it should have been obvious. “You might as well make the most of them.”

“Yea,” Ward said. “By sleeping in.”

Coulson raised his eyebrows. “Nope,” he said. “We’re going to keep busy. Come on. I have a car waiting outside.”

They drove away from the compound in silence, and when they reached town fifteen minutes later, Coulson pulled into the parking lot of a small bakery. “First,” he said. “We’re getting breakfast.”

“I had”—

“A banana and a glass of orange juice?” Coulson guessed. “You don’t eat unless Thor makes pancakes, and you’re going to need energy for today.”

Ward rolled his eyes, but he ordered what Coulson did—a bagel and coffee—and ate it slowly in the car. “Where are we going?”

“Here,” Coulson turned into the parking lot outside of a long, low, rectangular building that looked like it hadn’t seen a new paint coat since the Cold War. The parking lot was full of pot holes, and the yard behind the building was surrounded by a high chain-link fence.

The sun was just rising, but even in the growing light, the place had a gloomy look.

“What the hell is this place?” Ward asked in annoyance. “Jail?”

Coulson laughed. “No,” he said. “It’s the animal shelter. They’re short staffed and under-funded, and I thought… since you’ll have some time in your hands with no school for three days and no sparring lessons… well, I thought you might want to spend it here.”

Ward stared at him for a full minute, an incredulous smile dawning across his face. “Are you kidding?” he said. “Of course I want to spend it here.”

Coulson smiled. “I called them last night and asked if you could stay and help,” he said. “They have a few dogs brought in recently who must have been either on the streets or in a bad home of some sort, because they aren’t used to human company. The directors here—Amie and her wife Aziz—were hoping you could work with them like you worked with Buddy.”

Ward’s face lit up.

He hadn’t known what to expect when Coulson had dragged him out of bed early that morning, but his idea had vaguely involved the unpleasant idea of more punishment, and this; this was infinitely better.

Coulson pulled open the door, and Ward was greeted by chaos—a woman in a hijab shouting for him to close the door because there was a puppy running loose, another woman carrying an oversized bottle running past, and a small black puppy that was about the size Buddy had been leaping at Ward as he entered.

It was the best day Ward could remember. Coulson stayed, helping Aziz and Amie with their morning rounds feeding the dogs and then helping Ward when he took some of the shelter dogs for a walk.

There were all kinds of dogs—black lab mixes like Buddy, collies, golden retrievers, and even a great Dane with a litter of three-week-old puppies—and Ward was in his element. He even got to bottle-feed one of the other puppies, a beagle with only a stump of a tail.

“Can I take them all home?” he asked Coulson at the end of the day, and Coulson shook his head, smiling.

“Don’t tell Barton I let you come here,” he said. “He’s not allowed here anymore, because he kept bringing more dogs home. Steve’s not allowed here, either, and Natasha—well, she’d never admit it of course, but she’s the worst of the bunch, so we don’t let her come here either.”

Ward grinned. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

“You’re going to be back here every day for the rest of the week,” Coulson assented. “I can’t come with you the next few days. Are you comfortable here on your own?” When Ward nodded, he continued. “Even when you go back to school, I was thinking you could come back here in the evenings. That is, if you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” Ward said. He didn’t think he’d stopped grinning all day. “Do you think—do you think I could ask Skye to come with me?”

Coulson hesitated. “We’d have to ask the people at St. Agnes, but I don’t have a problem with it if Amie and Aziz don’t.”

“Of course you can bring your friend,” Aziz said, her brown eyes twinkling at Ward. She reminded him of Skye. “We always need more people. She’s one of the St. Agnes kids, you said?”

When Coulson assented, her eyes softened with sadness. “We take in a lot of lost ones here, don’t we my love?” she turned to Amie, who was physically her opposite—red hair and fair skin in sharp contrast to Aziz’s twinkling brown eyes and darker skin that was mostly hidden under her hijab. Amie nodded. “The little girl is welcome to come, too.”

It should have been a perfect day.

It almost was, too, as they drove home at sunset, laughing and talking and turning up the music despite Coulson’s insistence that he couldn’t concentrate on driving with the music at maximum volume.

They arrived home to find Victoria Hand surrounded by a group of level seven and level eight agents. “You weren’t answering your phone, Agent Coulson,” she said coolly. “I tried to alert you. We found the security breach.”

She stepped aside, and Ward caught his breath. It was Skye, standing there, an overconfident smile plastered on her face to distract from the fear in her eyes.

“She was trying to break in again,” Hand said coldly. “We caught her outside of a window on the third floor, actually. The window just happened to be to your boy’s room. Care to explain, Ward?”

A dozen pairs of eyes turned to stare at him, and Ward clenched his hands uncomfortably.

“Um,” he said. “Well. Shit. No. No, I wouldn’t, Agent Hand-Job.”

Skye grinned, and Ward was struck with the sudden realization that that smile was worth whatever shit-storm he had just brought down on himself.


	9. Discoveries

The agents stood waiting for an explanation, and Ward let them wait. Coulson stared down at him, his face firm and impassive.

“Ward,” Hand said coldly. “Who is this girl and why is she here?”

When both children were silent, Coulson spoke. “Agent Hand, let’s take this upstairs. You and I can talk to them without the rest of the agents present. Understood?”

The level sevens and eights dispersed as ordered, and Coulson turned to Ward, who moved slightly so that he was standing in front of Skye. “You two,” he said briefly. “Upstairs.”

Ward climbed the stairs slowly, Skye at his heels and Coulson and Hand bringing up the rear. Hand turned toward an interrogation cell on the second floor, but Coulson shook his head and took the lead, bringing them to the living quarters on the third floor. “We’ll talk in here,” he said, his expression softening slightly at Skye’s frightened look.

Hand just looked annoyed. “Agent Coulson, this is unacceptable,” she snapped as they entered the empty common room. “Having the boy here is one thing, but this girl has infiltrated our security systems _twice_ and he seems to know who she is.”

“So do I,” Coulson said quietly. “She’s a new girl from Ward’s school.”

“We fought Burke together yesterday,” Skye piped up, and Hand’s gaze shot to her, and, miraculously, softened.

“You’re the one Burke went after most recently?” Hand asked sharply.

Skye scowled. “Yea.”

“And you’re the one who broke his fingers?”

“Yea.”

Hand reached her hand out. “Thank you,” she said crisply. “He stopped harassing my daughter because of that. My name’s Victoria, by the way.”

Coulson raised his eyebrows, and Hand continued, her voice still cool but not as angry now: “I wish my daughter had your ability,” Hand said. “She hasn’t taken any self-defense classes yet.”

“It’s not about ability,” Skye said, shaking her hand. “It’s about desperation.”

Hand looked at her shrewdly, and then a slow smile spread across her face. “Yes,” she said. “I think you’re right.”

Coulson stared back and forth between them, amazement on his face that mirrored Ward’s.

“Phil,” Hand turned to him, her voice businesslike. “We still need to understand how she got in—Skye is your name?—and how we can patch the weaknesses in our system. Skye, can you help us with that? You can walk in the front door next time.”

“That’s not nearly as much fun,” Skye grumbled.

A smile slipped across Hand’s face—Ward had never seen her even close to a smile before—and it was a small, wolfish grin that changed her face entirely. “Or you can climb up,” she said. “If you really want to.”

“Do we need to call St. Agnes?” Coulson asked Skye. “Or do they know you’re here.”

“One of my level sevens called them,” Hand said. “They should be here in a few minutes.”

Fear flickered across Skye’s face, and Ward stepped closer to her.

“Skye,” Coulson said gently, noticing her fear. “We need you to explain how you got past the perimeter. And we’d like to have your help patching our system, like Agent Hand said. Can you do that?”

“I hacked the satellite footage in the area to find you,” Skye said. “The hack was easy—the code is almost too easy to decrypt—and then I locked my phone’s location to your coordinates. Basically, I just hijacked your IP address. Well, one of them. And then there’s this malware I designed—kind of a Trojan horse, but it’s invasive without causing damage—and it basically gave me the decryption code on my phone to hack your outer security system. The rest was easy.”

Coulson and Hand stared at her, visibly impressed, and Ward smiled proudly. This girl was not only good in a fight, she was smart. Like Darcy had said, she was “Jane-Foster-smart.”

“Why did you come last night?” Hand asked curiously.

“I was bored,” she said. “And I came to see Ward.”

“So you knew who the security breach was, when half the compound was on high alert this morning?” Coulson asked, looking at Ward, who nodded guiltily.

“I’m sorry,” Ward said, cringing slightly, but Coulson was laughing and Ward breathed a sigh of relief.

“Of course you didn’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t have expected any less of you, Grant,” he said, still laughing. “We had the entire compound frantically searching for the break-in, and it was just two kids who got bored and wanted to hang out.”

Hand smirked. “I’ll alert my level sevens of the vulnerability Skye mentioned,” she said. “And I’ll dispatch a team to make our systems able to withstand that kind of malware. Will you wait with them until one of the St. Agnes women comes?”

Coulson nodded, and Hand turned back to Skye.

“It was nice to meet you, Skye,” she said crisply. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

When Hand left, Skye sank onto one of the couches, looking up at Ward. “I’m so fucked,” she said, and Coulson raised his eyebrows at the strong word, but didn’t comment.

“You swear a lot for a kid,” Ward mimicked her words to him on the previous night, and she smacked his arm. “But yea. You really are.”

Skye groaned, rubbing her eyes wearily. “Do I have to go back?” she asked Coulson, and his face softened.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You do. I’m sorry.”

She looked around her, and then up at Ward. “And what you said before,” she said. “That I swear a lot? You’re right. But neither of us are kids.”

Coulson looked at her thoughtfully. “How long have you been at St. Agnes?”

She shrugged. “Since I was born. I had a few foster parents, but I always ended up back there with all the nuns,” she said, annoyance filling her voice at the word “nuns.”

Coulson nodded.

“Tomorrow,” Ward said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Can you come with me tomorrow? I’m going back to the animal shelter in town, and I asked the women who run it—Amie and Aziz—and they said you could come if you… if you want.”

“If they let me out of the house,” Skye said ruefully. “What time are you going to be there?”

“All day,” Ward said, his eagerness showing in his voice. “Do you know where it is?”

She shrugged. “I’ll find my way. I always do.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Agent Coulson, sir, a Sister Monica is here to see you,” a level one announced when Coulson opened the door. Ward looked at Skye, who relaxed visibly.

The nun was one of the younger women he had seen come from the orphanage, and she looked at Skye with a quiet regret that reminded Ward of Coulson.

“Skye,” she said softly, and Skye’s foot scuffed against the carpet nervously. “What are you doing here?”

“She was helping us patch a security breach,” Ward said before Skye could speak, and all three looked at him.

“And did you also _create_ this security breach?” Sister Monica asked astutely, and Skye’s lips twitched.

“Yea,” she admitted. “I came to see Ward.”

“The boy from school yesterday?” Monica asked, her blue eyes surveying Ward critically.

“Yup,” Skye said. “You know the one who saved my ass—saved me,” she corrected quickly. “When that Burke kid attacked me.”

Monica turned to Ward again, and nodded just slightly. “Thank you,” she said simply, and then turned to Coulson. “And are you Agent Coulson?”

He nodded, holding out his hand to shake her. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

Monica nodded to Skye. “We need to be going. Director Zirbe will want to speak with you.”

Skye’s face fell, and Ward saw fear in her face. He leaned over and whispered, “Tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.”

When they had left, Coulson turned to him. “If she sneaks out to meet you at the shelter, she could get in more trouble,” he said. “And the sisters are good women, but Zirbe… well, he’s not a man who I would want Skye in trouble with.”

“If she meets me,” Ward said firmly. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get caught.”

Coulson sighed. “I won’t stop you,” he said. “Because I think it could be good for Skye to spend time with Amie and Aziz. But if she’s caught once and gets in trouble, I will put a stop to it, okay? She doesn’t deserve more trouble.”

Ward nodded in understanding.

“And Grant?”

He looked up at Coulson.

“I don’t want to hear you call Victoria ‘Agent Hand-Job’ again,” the man said firmly. “She’s a good woman, Grant. And I think it’s time you started treating her with some respect.”

Ward nodded grudgingly. “I don’t like her,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Coulson said. “But there’s something I think you should know about her.”

Ward looked up at him, his eyes narrowing. “What?”

“She was the one who found out how your brother and your parents were treating you,” Coulson said. “And she was the one who took it to Director Fury’s office and argued for three hours straight that something had to be done about it. Fury didn’t think it was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s place to take you in, and he wanted to advise that you and Maynard and Dana and Chelle all be placed in foster care together. Hand was the one who told him you and the other two weren’t going to be anywhere near Maynard.”

Ward stared at him in disbelief. “ _What_?”

“You’ve never seen Victoria Hand argue,” Coulson said. “But she never loses. She’s the one responsible for your rescue, Grant, and even though she didn’t think at first that you should live here, she’s been your staunchest defender from the beginning.”

“I thought she hated me,” Ward said numbly, and Coulson shook his head.

“Victoria is like Melinda May—have you met her yet?” he asked, and when Ward shook his head, Coulson continued. “May’s a specialist like Hand was before Fury made her a level ten agent. May and Hand, they aren’t emotional people. I don’t think they have the chance to be, not if they want to survive in this world. But when they care, they care deeply, so don’t ever underestimate that. And even if you don’t like her, Grant, you need to treat her better than you have been. Okay?”

Grant nodded, still numb with shock. “Shit,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t have thought—I didn’t know—I should have”—

“Treated her with respect regardless of what you knew,” Coulson said quietly, putting a hand on Ward’s shoulder. “But I’m glad you know now.”

Ward nodded, and Coulson moved farther into the common room and dropped onto one of the chairs in exhaustion. “You should grab something to eat. We’re not done for the day yet,” he said, and Ward looked at him quizzically.

“Where are we going next?”

“The lab,” Coulson said. “Stark’s, not S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. Fitz and Simmons are there already, and so is Banner, actually—he’s in town for a week or so—and they all wanted you to join them.”

“I don’t know much about science,” Ward said.

“You don’t need to know much,” Coulson laughed. “With Stark and Banner and those two around. And I know from experience that you can certainly be part of experiments that cause small explosion, which you can’t deny that you enjoyed”—

Ward threw one of the couch pillows at him, and then ducked out of the room into the kitchen before he could throw it back.

He opened the cabinet to grab a cookie from the batch he had made with Fitz and Thor the night before, and found a piece of paper stuck inside the bag. He unfolded it curiously, and then felt a grin spreading uncontrollably across his face.

Not only had they found Skye on her way out, but she had known which snack he would grab first.

It was a simple note scrawled across the notebook paper, and he recognized her handwriting, all mess and sharply angled letters and smudges.

It read:

_You. Me. Eleven pm. Rooftop._

Ward shoved the note into his pocket, grinning. No, his day was most certainly not over.


	10. Everything Changes

When Ward entered the lab, Stark was tinkering with the hand on one of his new suits. “Grant,” he acknowledged him without looking up. “FitzSimmons and Banner are upstairs eating. Have you had dinner?”

Ward nodded, though he hadn’t really eaten much, and this time, Stark looked up at him, a knowing look in his eye.

“Did Coulson bring you?”

“Yea.”

“Was he the one that picked you up from school?” Stark asked nonchalantly. “After the fight?”

Ward nodded and looked away.

He had hoped they wouldn’t find out about the fight.

It wasn’t judgment he saw in Stark’s eyes, however; in fact, there was almost a hint of humor. “Did you know that Burke’s dad is almost as rich as I am?” he asked unexpectedly, a smirk crossing his face.

Ward shrugged. “I didn’t care.”

“I know,” Stark said, tossing the metal hand plates over his shoulder carelessly. “That’s why I like you, kid. Burke is an ass hole, and his kid is almost as bad. Was Coulson pissed at you for kicking the boy’s ass again?”

Ward shrugged. “Yea,” he said, looking away awkwardly. “A little, I guess.”

“I heard the fight was because of a girl,” Stark continued, ignoring Ward’s discomfort. “What’s her name?”

“Skye,” Ward said, and he couldn’t help the small smile that touched his face. “She’s from St. Agnes. She snuck into the Hub last night, and disabled all the security from her phone”—

“A hacker?” Stark’s face lit up. “When do I get to meet her?”

Ward grinned. “When she’s over next, I guess. Did they tell you about the fight?”

“No,” Stark nodded his head to indicate that Ward should come with him, and Ward followed him out of the lab and up the staircase towards Stark’s large dining room. “Tell me about it.”

“Skye’s good,” Ward said proudly. “Burke’s pretty big, but she used his size against him when she broke his fingers. It was like watching Natasha”—

“She broke his fingers?” Stark asked incredulously, and when Ward nodded, smirking just slightly, Stark said, “Damn. Girl must be one pissed-off orphan.”

“Yea,” Ward said. “We were both pretty pissed off, I guess.”

“Well, let me introduce you to a man who can write the book on being really pissed off,” Stark said loudly as the doors swung open in front of him and they entered the dining room.

FitzSimmons, Coulson, Steve, and a man Ward didn’t know all rose to greet them.

“Grant, this is Bruce Banner,” Stark said, and by the way the man smirked slightly at Stark, Ward guessed he had heard Stark’s summary of his anger. “We sometimes call him the Hulk.”

Banner smiled—he had to be the only person who _didn’t_ roll their eyes when Tony spoke, which was in itself quite the feat—and held out his hand to shake Ward’s. “Nice to meet you, Grant,” he said warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ward nodded to him, shaking his hand.

“I’m so glad you came, Grant,” Fitz interrupted, his eyes bright with excitement. “Dr. Banner is one of the best scientists on the planet”—

“Next to me, of course,” Stark interjected.

Fitz ignored him, bouncing back and forth on his heels as he faced Ward. “And _we get to work with him, Grant_! Tonight. He wants to talk about our ideas about that physics theory we had—the one we tested the first time we snuck into the lab”—

“The first time?” Steve interrupted. “How many times did you do that?”

“Um,” Fitz said, and Simmons turned beet red.

“Three,” Ward spoke for them. “Before the explosion.”

“And since then?” Coulson asked.

Fitz stepped back slightly, and Simmons ducked, muttering something about dropping a pencil (they were at the dinner table and no pencils were in sight, so her excuse almost made Ward laugh out loud).

Stark was smirking, and Banner exchanged a look with him.

“Grant?” Steve asked. “Have you been using the labs at the Hub since the explosion?”

Ward looked at the two children, who looked back at him pleadingly. “Yes,” he said finally, a tiny grin playing its way across his lips. “We took Skye’s idea for getting past security and applied it… creatively.”

“I wanted to see if our theory about the flammable properties of”—Fitz began guiltily, but Coulson waved his hand.

“I don’t want to know,” he said, looking to Steve helplessly and then to Stark. “Stark, let them cause destruction in your labs for a while, alright? I don’t want them burning down the Hub.”

Stark saluted sardonically, and Ward saw Fitz and Simmons relax visibly.

“You know it wasn’t Grant’s fault”—Simmons tried to say, but Coulson waved her response away as well.

“We know,” he said. “He’s not even the one who got you into the lab. That was Fitz, who copied Skye’s technology. And it’s you who likes the explosions.”

Simmons blushed, but Coulson was smiling.

“Just learn here, okay?” he said.

“Are you saying it’s okay if they burn _my_ house down?” Stark demanded.

“That’s exactly what they’re saying,” Banner said, ducking as Stark jabbed an elbow at him playfully.

Pepper entered just then, her face lighting up as it always did when she saw the children. “Grant,” she said warmly, holding out her hand to him. “It’s so good to see you. How are you all?” She turned to the other children, and Jemma smiled shyly up at her.

“Good,” Fitz answered her. “Dr. Banner, can we go back to the lab now?”

The doctor—a quieter, gentler man than Ward had expected—nodded to Fitz. “Grant, have you had dinner?”

Ward opened his mouth, but Stark said, “Not much.”

Steve and Coulson and Pepper sat down, too, and this time Ward ate, though he caught himself getting quickly distracted—even from the novelty of sitting across the table from Bruce Banner himself—by the memory of the handwritten note he had found next to the cookies.

Fitz and Simmons were in their element, so Ward broke away early and went home with Coulson.

He made it to the roof just as Skye climbed up from one of the sides.

“You can come in the front door now,” he reminded her, grinning.

She brushed aside her long dark hair, twisted and tangled from the wind, and flopped down beside him. “Told you,” she said. “It’s more fun this way.”

“Did you get in much trouble today?” he asked.

Her laughing eyes darkened instantly, and when her hand slipped to her cheek unconsciously, Ward knew instinctually that she was covering the place someone had struck her. “No,” she said. “It was fine.”

Ward just looked at her. He had told that same lie more times than he could remember.

“Okay,” she snapped suddenly. “It wasn’t fine. Stop looking at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he protested, and she frowned. He reached for her hands, though, and she let him. “Will you be okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, scooting closer to him again. “Are you?”

“Oh, they weren’t mad at me,” Ward assured her. “You were the one who broke in.”

She smiled, and then curled, shivering, next to him. “It’s cold up here. Do you have any blankets?”

Natasha had a trunk of supplies next to the crate of weapons on the far corner of the roof, and Ward pulled a thick blanket out for them to lie on, and another smaller one to wrap around Skye. She curled contentedly on the blanket, moving closer so that her head was on his shoulder.

“You can see so many stars from here,” she whispered breathlessly, and he looked down at her.

Her dark brown eyes shone with wonder as she looked up at the Skye, and Ward found suddenly that he would rather see those eyes than the sky full of stars any day.

“No wonder you never get tired of being up here,” Skye continued, turning her head and looking over at him. “What do you usually do up here?”

“Natasha teaches me sparring, and Clint teaches me archery,” Ward told her. “I bet they’d teach you, too, if you wanted.”

When she smiled, it changed her whole face, erasing the sad little lines around her mouth and smoothing out the anxious creases in her forehead. “Of course I want them to,” she said. “These people are _legend_. And no one would ever mess with me again.”

They lay together on the roof for at least an hour, and when Skye finally stood to go, Ward felt the sudden chill of her absence. “Come to the shelter tomorrow?”

She smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

Ward climbed down from the roof, shivering a little from the roaring wind.

He was met with shouts that jerked him to attention.

“ _Grant_!” Coulson was running towards him, relief flooding his face visibly. “I found him. He’s okay,” he said into his com, and then he had pulled Ward into a tight hug. “Thank God. Thank God I found you.”

“What happened?” Ward asked in confusion, pulling back, and Coulson drew in a long breath before he looked at him.

“It’s Garrett,” Coulson said slowly. “He just escaped from prison.”


	11. Grant's Choice

“ _What_?” Ward stared at Coulson in disbelief. “How?”

Coulson shook his head in defeat. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “We don’t know how. He must have had someone on the inside. Come on, Steve and Tony and Bruce are meeting us back here, and then we’re getting you to a safe house as soon as”—

“No,” Ward said wildly. “Fitz and Simmons. He’s going to go after them, and Jemma might still be here with her mum, but Fitz went home and he’s at home with just his mum”—

“Barton is going to get Fitz,” Coulson reassured him. “And Romanov is staying with Jemma.”

“ _Skye_ ,” Ward said suddenly. “She was—she was just here—on the roof with me—he’s going to go after Skye.”

Coulson’s eyes widened, but he pulled Ward back. “No,” he said firmly. “Steve or Tony will go find her, but I don’t think we need to worry. Garrett went to prison before you met Skye, so I doubt he knows about her.”

“If he had someone inside to get him out, he knows about them,” Ward said with cold certainty. “I’m going after her.”

Coulson stood firm. “I’ll tell Steve to bring Skye to the safe house. In all likelihood Garrett will be more concerned with running away anyway”—

“You know that’s not true,” Ward snapped. “Stop trying to pacify me.”

“Steve, we need you to find Skye,” Coulson said into his com. “Tony, get here as soon as you can. Is Bruce with you?”

“Bruce went with Barton to get the boy,” Tony answered, his usual casual tone tense and stiff with worry.

“I’m on my way,” Steve said tersely. “Is she still at the compound?”

“She just left,” Coulson informed him.

“On it,” Steve answered. “Thor is with me. We’ll keep her safe, Grant.”

“Tasha, what’s your status?” Coulson asked.

“Jemma’s with me,” she said. “She and Lily and I are back in the compound for the night.”

Coulson let out a long breath of relief. “Good,” he said. “Have you notified Hill and Hand?”

“No,” Natasha said. “Hill’s overseeing an op in Hungary, and Hand is meeting Fury and the Council in D.C. But I don’t need back up, Phil. The girls and I will be safe.”

Coulson nodded. “Copy that. We’ll need you to go with us to the safe house, of course.”

“Of course,” she assented, and Coulson turned to Ward.

“Here, take this,” he handed him a com. “It’s linked to the rest of us, in case anyone gets separated. Let’s get you a bulletproof vest and”—Coulson turned away, expecting Ward to follow, and Ward took his chance.

He took off running, down the long hall towards the opening to the roof at the end of the hallway. Coulson shouted for him to stop, but Ward ignored him, swinging himself through the roof and wedging the swinging door firmly shut so he could not be followed.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, beneath panic and adrenaline and the sick feeling in his gut, was the regret for what he was doing to Coulson and the others, but he shoved it away from him. The last time he had hesitated before a madman, he had lost Dana and Chelle…

And he may be the broken kid, running in panic, but his mind was as sharp as ever, running faster than his feet. There was a zip-line from the roof of the Hub to one of the smaller outbuildings—Natasha had left it up when she had arrived home a few hours before—and Ward threw himself from the roof, sliding down the zip-line faster than even Natasha usually dared.

He hit the roof of the smaller building harder than he should have, and rolled, stumbling to his feet and then severing the zip tie so no one could follow him.

Briefly, he glanced back, and saw Coulson on the other roof, waving his arms frantically at Ward. He must have been shouting, too, but the wind erased the sound of his voice, and Ward turned away.

He traced Skye’s route, where she knew she would have passed beneath the guard towers and disappeared out of the east exit. He followed the trail, panic growing in the pit of his stomach with each passing second. He dodged guards—there were double the usual at the gates, and Ward knew Coulson must have dispatched them the instant he’d taken off—and found himself just outside of the gate when he realized beyond a shadow of a doubt that Garrett did indeed have Skye.

She had left him a sign—a piece of plaid cloth from her shirt, torn free and hung on a branch. She had either been running from someone—it could only be Garrett—or she had already been captured and had been trying to leave a sign for him.

Ward wasn’t aware of any conscious thought after that. He followed the trail she had left, automatically, his instinct kicking his panic to the wayside.

“Grant,” an urgent voice came through the coms. It was Coulson. “Grant, please come back. We’ll get Garrett. I promise we will. And we’ll keep your friends safe.”

“He has Skye,” Ward said. “Ask Steve. He hasn’t found her, has he?”

“Not yet,” Steve’s voice was sharp with worry. “But I will. You need to come back to the Hub, Grant, and you need to come back _now_.”

“Do you have Fitz safe?” Ward asked sharply, ignoring the command and sprinting through the cluster of trees surrounding the compound and into the few miles of open countryside between the Hub and the town where he went to school.

There was silence at the other end of the com, and Ward straightened. “Tell me,” he said sharply. “Is Fitz safe?”

“His house is empty.” It was Clint who answered. “His mother is injured. Fitz is gone.”

Ward tore the com from his ear and hurried onwards.

He didn’t start running until he saw blood.

It wasn’t much—but it was enough, and Ward’s heart rate spiked. He forced himself to breathe, to focus, to hold himself together…

He found them in abandoned farm house three miles from the Hub. Garrett wasn’t making much effort at subtlety, but that had never been his strongest point.

Ward decided he was done with subtlety, too.

He kicked in the door, and Garrett looked up, a cold smile twisting, snake-like, across his face. Fitz was unconscious on the ground, but Skye was awake, and bound to a rickety chair in the old farmhouse. Her dark eyes were wide with fear, but she was angry too, and struggling futilely against her bonds.

“Grant,” Garrett said. “How nice to see you.”

“Let them go,” Ward said coldly.

“You’re good at it, kid,” Garrett commented, lazily lifting the gun that had been lying across his lap. “Hiding your fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” Ward lied.

Garrett smirked. “Of course you are,” he said. “Because you can still see it, can’t you? Dana”—he pointed to Fitz—“and Chelle”—he pointed to Skye, who yanked at her bonds again. “You got to them too late, too.”

“This isn’t Dana and Chelle,” Ward said firmly. “These are my friends and you are _not_ going to hurt them.”

“You still blame yourself, don’t you? You should’ve been there in time, Ward.”

Ward glared at Garrett defiantly. “If you want to talk about the past, _John_ ,” he said arrogantly. “Maybe we can talk about what I did to the last monster who threatened the people I care about.”

Skye’s eyes widened, and Ward knew he was destroying his friendship with her, but he didn’t care.

“I killed him,” Ward said emotionlessly. “Like I’ll kill you if you don’t let them go.”

A hint of fear sparked in Garrett’s eyes momentarily, but then he leaned back in his chair, smiling. “You couldn’t beat me in a fight, kid. I was the one who trained you for a year, remember?”

“That wasn’t training,” Ward said bitterly. “You beat the hell out of me for a year and I let you. You were teaching me to be weak, not strong. And I have better teachers now.”

“Who, the archer and the Russian?” Garrett scoffed. “They aren’t teaching you to be desperate, and that, kid, is what survival hinges on.”

Garrett rolled his eyes at Ward, who took the millisecond to lunge at him, knocking the gun from his hand and sending the man flying backwards.

Garrett had been wrong; about many things, but about this more than most: if there was one thing Grant Ward understood, it was desperation.

It was desperation that sent Garrett’s gun flying, it was desperation that blocked Garrett’s fists, and it was desperation that sent the kick that shattered Garrett’s kneecap.

It was desperation that retrieved the gun and pointed it at John Garrett’s head as he sagged on the floor, holding his broken knee and moaning.

“What are you waiting for, kid?” Garrett grimaced. “Pull the trigger. God knows that’s all you’re good at it.”

“That’s not true,” Ward said, and his hand was shaking it was not supposed to be shaking not now he could not still be this weak—

“You’re a weapon,” Garrett said, his bleeding lip twisting into a smile. “You hurt and you break and you destroy, wherever you go. That’s who you are.”

But something else hit Ward then; something that was not desperation or even fear. “That’s not true,” he said quietly, the certainty of the words hanging heavy in the air around him. “I’m more than a weapon. You spent a year telling me I wasn’t good at anything, but you’re a liar. I’m good at hand-to-hand and I’m good at protecting my friends and I’m good at learning languages—Natasha’s been teaching me Russian—and I’m good with animals and I can do so many things you’ll never be able to do. You have no idea who I am, John, or what I am capable of.”

“Congratulations,” Garrett said sardonically, wincing as he tried to inch backwards slightly. “Would you like an award before you pull the trigger? Because you are going to pull that trigger, Ward. That’s where you’ll always end up.”

“Not today,” he said softly.

A slow smile dawned across Garrett’s face. “That’s it,” he mocked. “You’re too weak to pull the trigger.”

“No,” Ward said. “I’m strong enough not to.”

He followed the words with a kick—the roundhouse kick Coulson had taught him that night on the rooftop not so long ago—that dropped John Garrett to the floor, unconscious.


	12. Son

Coulson burst through the doors just seconds after Ward had knocked Garrett out, just as Ward turned to sever Skye’s bonds. Ward saw relief wash visibly across the man’s face, followed by a mix of anger and exhaustion and just a hint of admiration.

He walked forward and pulled Ward into a tight hug. “Don’t you _ever_  fucking do something like that again,” he said sharply, and Ward nodded against his shoulder. “My god—I thought—I thought I’d find”—

Coulson shook his head, unable to say the words aloud, and released Ward. He turned and lifted Fitz, who was still unconscious. As he did so, the door burst open again and Ward found himself face to face with the rest of them—Darcy and Steve at the front, with Thor and Jane at their heels, followed by Natasha, Clint, Tony, Bruce, and—looking hopelessly out of place in dim farmhouse—Pepper.

Darcy crossed the room to hug Ward, pulling Skye into her embrace too. When she released them, she stepped away, making sure to trample on a few of Garrett’s splayed fingers.

“We’re going to get you back to the Hub. Steve, is a team on their way to take Garrett?” Coulson said, shifting Fitz in his arms.

“We notified Hand,” Steve said. “She’s bringing a team to collect him and transport him to the Fridge.”

They boarded a transport vehicle waiting outside after Coulson transferred Fitz to Thor’s arms so Jane could examine him as best she could. The farmhouse was surrounded by now; level eights securing Garrett and a med team assisting Jane in caring for Fitz. Agent Hand approached their transport vehicle, her usually cold face bright with anger.

“You saved them,” she said bluntly, folding her arms and looking down at Ward, who was sitting next to Skye and trying to still the shaking in his hands. “And you didn’t put a bullet in Garrett, which is more than I could have done.”

He stared back at her, unsure of what to say.

“He set up a live feed of the building, did you know that?” she continued, and Ward looked up at Steve, who had climbed in next to him. “Because he’s a sick bastard, and he was planning on making all of us watch when he killed you.”

Ward shuddered instinctively, and Skye took his hand, her fingers cold and shaking.

“Do you know what Garrett was going to do?” Hand asked, her dark eyes flashing with anger at the thought as her eyes rested briefly on Skye. “Before you got there, he spoke into the live feed and said”—

“Victoria,” Steve said sharply, and she shut her teeth with a sharp little click.

“Where are you taking him?” Ward asked quietly, hating the tremor in his voice.

“The Fridge,” she said. “It’s our most secure prison. I’m taking him myself, and Thor and Banner are accompanying me. Do you want to come and see him put away for good?”

Ward hesitated, and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t care what you do with him, I just don’t ever want to see him again.”

Hand nodded curtly. “Of course,” she said. Impulsively, she reached out one slim hand and patted his shoulder awkwardly. “And what you did tonight, kid? That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Then she turned and walked away quickly, her steps clipped and measured as always.

Ward sagged against the seat and closed his eyes. “Can we go home now?” he asked as the others piled into the car. His voice shook just slightly, and he clenched his fists, willing himself to remain steady.  “Can we please go home?”

Natasha entered last, took one look at Skye, and then pushed her way on Skye’s other side. Skye curled closer to her, her face pale, and Natasha wordlessly braced one arm behind the girl’s back.

Grant pushed his way through the mass of people—between Tony and Bruce and then past Clint—until he ended up next to Coulson and curled in beside him. Coulson threw an arm across his shoulders and gave the order to move out, and it was only then that Grant found he could breathe again.

It seemed strange, he thought suddenly, that he could be surrounded by super-soldiers and gods, but that he felt safest beside this man in a business suit who had brought him home on that cold day in September.

They arrived back at the Hub, and they were met with what could only be described as a mob of SHIELD agents. They let out a rousing cheer when the doors to the transport opened, and Ward looked up at Coulson questioningly.

“The live feed Agent Hand told you about?” Romanov answered for him. “They all saw it. Garrett wanted an audience. It backfired just a little bit.”

Ward stared in amazement. “But why are they all cheering?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“For you, dip-stick,” Skye spoke finally, her voice small but as fiery as always. “What you did tonight was… amazing.”

Ward’s mouth was hanging open, and he stared at all of them; all of these soldiers and scientists and spies who were giving him a hero’s welcome home.

When the crowd in the main courtyard didn’t immediately move aside, Coulson barked an order to a group of level sixes, and then led them through the group, the adults surrounding Skye, Ward, and Fitz so the crowd couldn’t jostle them.

“Give them space,” Coulson ordered curtly, and this time the agents fell back, still cheering for him.

When they reached their quarters, Lily and Jemma Simmons were waiting there with Maria Hill and Sister Monica from St. Agnes, as well as another woman Grant didn’t immediately recognize. She turned out to be Fitz’s mother, and when Steve carried him in—awake now, but with a throbbing headache and no memory of the kidnapping—she ran forward with a desperation in her eyes that Ward understood.

It was quite possibly the longest night of Ward’s life.

Coulson made him and Skye both take a trip to the med wing, just to make sure there were no injuries, and afterwards the whole group stayed for hours, talking together in terse tones about inside men who had let Garrett out and might-have-been scenarios and new security measures.

Sister Monica left, but Coulson convinced her that they would bring Skye home later that night when they had confirmed news that Garrett was secure in the Fridge facilities. Fitz’s mother, who stood shyly at the back with him, looking out of place, was pulled into the group of women—Pepper and Jane and Maria Hill—who were discussing security measures.

As it turned out, Fitz wasn’t the only one bright one in his family, and by the end of the night, both Pepper and Maria had offered her a job working in the tech branch of security for their respective companies (Fitz’s mother chose Stark Industries).

It was a long time before everyone had cleared out of the main room. Thor had returned and he and Jane had gone to bed (only after Thor had sternly told him that not even the son of Odin attempted rescue missions alone and Jane had hugged him so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe). Banner had returned and gone directly to bed, pale and exhausted, and Darcy had left the room, yawning and ordering Ward not to go after anymore madmen without at least carrying a taser.

Lily and Jemma left, followed soon after by Fitz and his mother, and Maria and Pepper excused themselves soon after.

“Tony, you should come home to bed,” Pepper urged, but Tony, lounged on the couch in the main room, ignored her.

Ward leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen, and closed his eyes, exhausted.

Steve joined him, his face still paler than usual as if tonight had left him particularly shaken. He ruffled Ward’s hair with one hand and shoved his free hand into one of his pockets. “Don’t run off on us like that, kid,” he said gruffly. “We need you. And we don’t ever want to lose you.”

Ward nodded silently, and Steve’s mouth quirked into a smile.

“I suppose it isn’t much use to tell you that, though, is it?” Steve asked, and Ward looked up at him quizzically. “Because you would stick with your friends through anything. I had a friend like that once.”

Ward knew he was talking about Bucky—he had a certain tone that was all Bucky—and he leaned his head against the man’s shoulder briefly. “You know what it’s like then,” he said quietly. “You’d want to go save your friend, no matter what. You’d follow them to the end of the line.”

Steve drew his breath sharply, and Ward looked up at him.

“Did I say something”—

“No,” Steve said quickly. “No, it’s okay. You just remind me a lot of him. My friend Bucky.”

Steve excused himself and slipped off to his room soon after, and Ward was left with Clint and Natasha, who were sitting together on one reclining chair and arguing about how to adjust the setting, and Tony, Skye, and Coulson.

Skye, who for some reason had decided that Stark, the most unapproachable person on the planet, was her friend, had curled up on the couch beside Stark, and he—even more inexplicably—had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. When Ward joined them on the couch, he found that Skye had fallen fast asleep, her head on Stark’s shoulder.

“You should bring her home, Stark,” Coulson said softly, and Tony nodded.

(Skye would never be able to quite remember later if the memory of being carried—flying—through the cool night air back to the orphanage was just a dream, but she did know that someone’s arms carried her to her lonely bedroom and tucked a blanket over her, and she did know that she slept more peacefully than she could remember in a long, long time, despite the terrifying events of the day).

When Tony had left to bring Skye home, Natasha and Clint headed towards the roof to spar, and Ward climbed onto the couch next to Coulson, who threw a blanket across his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Coulson asked quietly, and Ward nodded bravely.

“It’s been a long day,” Ward said. “Night,” he corrected himself. “It’s almost morning. _Shit_. Do I still have to get up early tomorrow?”

Coulson smiled slightly. “No,” he said. “You can sleep for as long as you want.”

Ward sighed in relief, and felt his eyes beginning to droop shut as he leaned against Coulson’s shoulder.

“Natasha and Clint will be home for the next few days,” Coulson said after a pause. “Natasha said she has some new sparring techniques, if you wanted to start lessons again.”

Ward looked up at him, and Coulson grinned.

“Are you serious?”

Coulson nodded. “I ran after you—I didn’t take any of the transports—so I didn’t see the live feed everyone else saw, but Steve showed me tonight. And I can say I’ve never been more proud.”

“You said I had a choice,” Grant said, his words beginning to slur with sleepiness. “I just didn’t know until tonight that I could… that I could make the right one, I guess.”

He fell asleep like that in the main room, and woke briefly when Coulson carried him to his room and tucked him under the covers.

It was dark and warm and his eyes fluttered shut again, but just before he fell asleep, he realized at the back of his mind that in this most unlikely place to find a home, Grant Ward finally knew how it felt to be somebody’s son…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yes. There will be a part 3 of Into Marvelous Light. Stay tuned, my friends, and as always, thanks for all of your comments & support. (:


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